


Vincerò

by Kamekatze



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Big hero 6 reference ayyyyy, I’ll update everything as I go, M/M, worlds 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamekatze/pseuds/Kamekatze
Summary: He’d decided the right moment was to be now.





	1. hallway, night I

The right moment was now.  
There just needn’t be more waiting.  
He’d proven himself to the world, at last, taking the silver medal. He’d grown stronger this season, bolder, a man now rather than the boy people still tended to see in him. The relentless fire inside him, kindled by his oath to skate as if death was upon him, had sparked its flame in every part of him, his every move. His growth had shown, and the people had seen him as him.  
Standing in the hotel hallway, late at night, he might as well have felt tipsy, high on success and the feeling of flying. But his mind was clear.  
Through all l his career, his life, he’d never once been this focused, had not once experienced such an excruciating pull towards a goal he’d striven to reach.  
Therefore he’d decided the moment was to be now.  
But all determination couldn’t stop his hands from sweating and shaking. He hid them in the sleeves of his team jacket. Frowning, he realized that he’d probably been standing in this dark hallway for some minutes, going off on tangents, anticipating and dreading the following events at the same time. A faint sigh passed his chapped lips.  
Shoma knocked on the door.  
  
When he had first seriously met Yuzuru, somewhere along his last junior seasons, the senpai had taken only a few minutes to share with him his extensive knowledge of acoustics and sounds, gesturing animatedly. The older had finally burst out laughing at Shoma’s confused but concentrated face, suddenly aware of their surroundings: an arena, buzzing with people, all wishing for time to pass faster and for results to be announced.  
  
As the knocking sound echoed down the empty hallway, Shoma wanted time to stop.  
He was Schroedinger’s cat. For as long as this door stayed closed, his life could continue as it always had been. He’d be none the wiser, but hadn’t the old life worked out well thus far?  
Once this door would move even an inch, once he would face the consequences of his action, his life as he had know it would change. Irreparably.  
A bed creaking inside the room, feet shuffling across the carpet-covered floor.  
Shoma straightened his back. Blew his hair out of his eyes.  
He was to stand tall, and to speak his mind.  
The door swung open.

The man’s eyes formed crescent moons with his smile.  
“Shoma-chan”, Yuzuru said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t written anything in a year and need validation, please comment any thoughts!  
> Love y’all, and let’s wish our men all the best!


	2. hotel room, night I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoma knew what he needed to say, to convey.

Visibly tired by a day’s work in press and sport, Yuzuru only offered a small hand gesture before returning to his bed, inviting the younger to share the soft mattress. Shoma declined the offer wordlessly. He stood in the doorway, one hand on the wooden frame. Any scenarios he’d thought could follow did not include Yuzuru’s bed, or.. any action from Yuzuru’s side, really. He’d planned to start with an epic monologue.

A mocking voice woke him from his disgruntled thought.  
“Hey silver medalist, what’s up with you? With how constipated you look, you’d think you got seventh again!”  
Shoma, embarrassed by being called out like this, managed a loop-sided smile and relaxed his posture. He finally let go of his steady friend, the doorframe.  
“You know,” Yuzuru grinned as Shoma faced him again. “Only medalists are allowed in this room, so.. you have my, the gold medalist’s, permission to enter.” Being king of the ice had really gotten to Yuzuru.  
He waved his hands as if giving orders. “And close that damn door behind you!”  
As Shoma followed the request, the older leaned back propped up on his arms where he was sitting on his bed. Turning back around, Shoma was met with Yuzuru’s eyes, studying him curiously as if waiting for the time to speak. When no words were offered by the other, Shoma was again hit by everything he had felt in that empty hallway, in front of that closed door. His hands shaking. His legs weak. He might’ve been sweating in his jacket.  
Regardless, Shoma had decided on what to do. He opened his dry mouth to speak.

“Shoma, you did well today.”

Yuzuru cut him off mid-thought, ending the exhausting silence. Catching him off guard. Stunned by the praise, Shoma froze in his movement. He stood open-mouthed, eyes wide open.  
“Well, I mean, you’ve always been skating well”. Yuzuru leaned back into the stacked pillows, gaze wandering aimlessly on walls and ceiling. His voice pronouncedly calm. “When you did Worlds last year, we all just felt kinda bad for you, because.. we could see your potential, and how hard you were trying, but you just weren’t really there yet, you know?” His hands fidgeted with the blanket. “This year, it felt like you’ve grown up, I guess? Like, you seemed to know what it’s all about for you and stuff, and” -

“Yuzuru.”

Not once before had Shoma dared to stop any of the older men from talking.  
But he felt that if not now, if not in this moment, he would burst or implode in sheer overwhelm, and his words would be lost in this moment in time.  
So when Yuzuru’s head whipped around with a surprised look, Shoma spoke.

“When.. out the ice, whenever I skate and I’m.. whenever I give my everything and all. It’s not.. it’s never really about trying to be the best.” 

His voice was too timid. His emotions too much, emptying his brain from the sentences he’d built in other late nights, when his heart had been racing at images of sparkles and feathers and a swan flying across the ice.  
But Shoma knew what he needed to say, to convey. And that was enough.

“It’s about standing on the podium. Because that’s.. that’s when I stand next to you.”

He took a deep breath. Again, quiet was upon them. Now, Yuzuru was frozen in time. Encouraged by the lack of a harsh response, Shoma felt a rush of adrenaline. He inched closed to the bed, taking smallest steps. When the distance between the men matched what Shoma was trying to say, he stopped.

“Yuzuru, I.. I want to be next to you. Always.”

Shoma didn’t dare look up. He studied his hands. His worn out shoes. Yuzuru’s team jacket on the carpet.  
He needed words to cross the distance.

“Do you... feel the same? Somehow?”

The room was sparsely lit. After the door had closed behind Shoma, neither of them had bothered to switch on any light, other than the dimmed lamp by the king sized bed.  
In the chiaroscuro and the silence that followed Shoma’s words, it was impossible to read Yuzuru’s reaction. The older didn’t seem to react, at all. The gears were turning in Shoma’s head, his hurt threatened to shatter his chest. He was intent on moving no muscle. 

Until Yuzuru smiled.  
“Do you want to kiss me?”

 

Oh, Shoma did.

  
Shoma had dreaded standing on his own legs, all his life. The big decisions - he’d always let other people make those for him.  
His program music. His costume. Birthday presents. Travel plans.  
Shoma liked to stick with the small things. Those that only affected him, and no one else.   
A double Flip or Lutz. Wether his hair should be up or down.  
But sometimes, after a particularly bad skate and a sleepless night, he’d even get lost contemplating his breakfast choice, the next song to play.  
He felt that part of growing up was learning to make the big decisions. Taking steps and getting other people involved.   
He was now ready to face the consequence to his actions.  
  
He lifted his head towards the stare of dark eyes and kissed Yuzuru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t going to be cheesy, wait for it!  
> Updates won’t be this quick, as sadly I do have school most days.  
> Hope you enjoy, all the best to our men!


	3. hotel room, night II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At this point already, he’d outgrown his plan.

Shoma had never cared enough for romantic things, to be able to find words to describe his state of mind, in that moment.  
He’d closed his eyes, when Yuzuru’s lips had found his, when he had felt the other’s breath on his skin.  
Subconsciously, Shoma inched away. 

Once that first kiss had been shared, he felt the weight of it all. He distanced himself from the other man, the silent figure on the bed.  
The men mustered each other curiously, assessing their situation wordlessly, neither moved nor dared to utter a word.  
Shoma had thrown the figurative first stone, had broken the ice.  
At this point already, he had outgrown his plan. Caution had flown out the window. What boundaries were to be kept intact, at this point? What rules wouldn’t, mustn’t change?  
What was the new plan?  
Shoma felt airy, aloft, uncertain of his own train of thoughts.  
Now his thoughts were racing, he was overthinking - he wouldn’t be able to grasp a clear thought, to think up his next step, to do anything at all - he was in way too deep in his own mind.

When Yuzuru moved closer, slender hands coming to caress damp curls, Shoma sighed against his lips.

The train stopped.

As the weight of living tumbled off his back, he found himself smiling.

 

Feeling the movement on his own lips, Yuzuru broke the kiss. Suddenly more aware of their bodies and the position they were in, they noticed the significant difference in their dress up, Yuzuru in a grey loose shirt. 

“Would it make you any less of a Japanese top athlete, taking that jacket off?”

Shoma’s blush deepened, if at all possible.

Yuzuru’s smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes as his stare drilled holes into Shoma’s chest.  
The latter hastily removed the synthetic blue fabric. The voice in the back of his head started screaming, reminding him of how he was still unaware of Yuzuru’s intentions, of how far this thing was supposed to go. But Shoma felt bold. He had made it this far.  
‘Attack’.

Shoma stripped off his black shirt and let it drop to the floor.  
If this wasn’t what the older man had expected, he didn’t show any sort of surprise. 

Shoma had taken another step. Crushed yet another boundary.

He knew Yuzuru hated losing, in any way, but it only took a few seconds for the other to break their staring battle and give in. Taking in the smaller man’s body with his glare, he studied every inch of exposed skin.  
Shoma didn’t dare move as he watched Yuzuru’s eyes roam on his body, the other’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. When their eyes met again, Shoma leaned in to conquer Yuzuru’s lips, again.  
His moving even closer forced Yuzuru’s legs to wrap around Shoma’s thighs.  
Had their kisses been tentative before; Shoma had broken a dam. Their sport required stamina, but they were robbing each other’s breath. 

 

Shoma loved this. The two of them, moving together, lips on lips. Feeling skin. 

Showing all his emotion, all of himself to the man he’d found he loved. 

 

After some minutes, as they parted for air, Yuzuru’s hand came to rest on Shoma’s chest.  
With a nod of his head, Shoma motioned for Yuzu to go ahead with whatever he so wanted.

 

 

Yuzuru pushed Shoma away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to translate Ovid for class, that’s why my sentences are weird.  
> Can someone who actually speaks English well PLEASE tell me whether “to taxate” is a word that exists? I SWEAR I read it somewhere!! Isn't it like.. watching something intently and slowly?? Please help a German out 
> 
> I wish our men the best, and hope that Shoma will be happy and healthy after IDF this night!! Go Shooms!!
> 
>  
> 
> (angst incoming)  
> (do you feel it)


	4. hallway, night II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was exactly what he’d sometimes dare to wish for.

Shoma’s blank face went through some transmutations, until he was left with visible confusion.

“Stop,” said Yuzu, and removed his hand.  
They locked eyes.  
Shoma didn’t offer any reaction or encouragement, as he waited for Yuzu to go on, to explain.

Yuzu decided to clear the air and speak.

 

“This is not what you want.”

 

Shoma’s mind tried to comprehend those words, to make sense out of seeming nonsense.   
It couldn’t.  
What did Yuzu think, why he did all this? Why he made those steps? Knocked on this door?   
This was exactly what he’d sometimes dared to wish for. Spending the night in a room with the man who knew his heart.  
There was nothing more he could have wished for.  
He wondered why Yuzu would question his sincerity. Would downplay his efforts.  
He knew what Yuzu wanted, had felt his needs and wanting on his lips. Curiosity on his skin. Desire in his chest.  
So why didn’t Yuzu think he knew?  
“It is, though? What I want.”

 

They’d moved apart, subconsciously, and ever so slightly. Shoma was put off by Yuzu’s words. With Yuzu doubting his big game plan, Shoma felt 11 again.   
He’d first stepped on the podium at the Nationals, taking bronze despite a more than flawed program, playing with the big boys now. The gold medalist, nearly twice his size, had leaned down to him and gestured wildly. When he took that boy’s, Yuzuru’s hand that day, he knew: he needed to be just as good. To make good decisions. He needed to grow.

“No, it’s not.”  
Yuzu sighed, and started digging his fingers into the mattress beside his legs. His gaze dropped to follow his fingers, tracing patterns onto the white sheets.  
“Because you want to .. have me, because you have this idea of what you think I think, and what I want, and it’s just not..”  
Once he found his words, his eyes found Shoma’s again.  
“This isn’t what’s right for you.”

If Shoma’s expression had been blank before, his mind now was, too.

“I don’t understand.”

Yuzuru squirmed on his half of the bed, uncomfortable in the other’s merciless stare.  
In interviews, in the media, he never seemed to have to think. His answers were carefully prepared, to express his feelings earnestly, but never too much.  
In this exact second, for once, he seemed reluctant to speak.  
“You asked if I feel the same, somehow, and.. I don’t.”

 

Shoma scoffed.  
“Then why did you make me kiss you?”

 

“Because I couldn’t bear rejecting you.”

 

 

Grabbing his jacket, Shoma left the room.

 

As he shut the door, down the dark, empty hallway, the sound of his shattering heart echoed with his steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously debating turning this into a Freytag-style drama bc (only) dialogue is fun..?  
> Hope you enjoyed reading, somehow
> 
> Shoomsy made it to the final!! I wish him the bestest look, and all that’s good for Yuzu!!


	5. wakaba, dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakaba worried.

Wakaba. Wakaba. Wakaba. Wakaba.  
“If you need anything, just hop over”, Waka’d said. “I’ll text you our room number!”  
Shoma stumbled through the hallways, trying to not bump into anything of value as his mind wasn’t in the right place to look out for his way. Though no tears streamed down his face, yet.   
Ping, said the elevator. Pit-pat, said sock-clad feet on dirty carpets. Knock, said Shoma’s hand on the door.  
Knock, again.  
And again.  
Well. Seemed as the entire heavenly forces decided to conspire against one small man. Tightening his grip on the jacket he’d been dragging across the floor, Shoma sighed and considered retreating.  
Thus, the door swung open.   
A barely familiar face greeted him with a confused look, which quickly turned into a smile. “It’s Shoma!”, Kaori exclaimed.   
He assessed the situation in the room, dark except for the TV’s harsh glow. From what he could gather Kaori and Marin must’ve forced Wakaba to watch an animated American film. A fitting way of celebrating some junior medals.  
The girls averted their attention from where a giant white robot seemed to be stroking a cat.   
“Shoma!” Wakaba greeted him tiredly, but kindly. “Why surprise us now, you could’ve texted me and we’d have waited with the movie!”   
Kaori re-joined them in their pillow-fort. “And if you decided to show up, you should at least bring snacks”, Marin teased, pretending to hide empty bags of chips behind her back.   
Stumbling upon this homely scene of summer camp like evening serenity, Shoma felt taken aback. He felt three expectant gazes on him.   
Oh, he thought.   
He was still stood in the dark hallway, door wide open. Also, they’d probably like him to join their banter. Raise his eyebrows maybe, or tease the juniors for staying up past bedtime.  
He did none of this. His pokerface had been perfected through years of stage fright in a performance based sport. Now, it served as his frontier of calm, while inside he was a storm.  
Shoma closed the door, shut it softly with a klick.

As he stepped into the flickering lights of the whimsical drama, Wakaba’s smile fell.

“Kaori, Marin, could you go watch that elsewhere?”

 

The juniors had apparently not even noticed the tense air, and were focused on their robot once again. Now though, they seemed upset by Wakaba’s rather unreasonable request.   
“Don’t you want to watch it? You said you did though, and why do you need us to leave the room?” During Kaori’s confusion, Marin had mustered Shoma - his shirt on backward, hair wet and disheveled. Then looked at Waka, then back at Shoma - her eyes widened. With a prolonged “oh”, she nudged Kaori’s side with her elbow. “What? What is it? What am I missing?” Marin grabbed the lost Kaori by the wrist and dragged her towards the door, grabbing phones and keys underway. As they were half out the door, Marin even patted Shoma’s shoulder in encouragement.   
“Don’t make false assumption about people”, Wakaba called after them.   
Shoma couldn’t be bothered or moved to care for what the juniors might think. 

Once again, he was stood in front of closed doors, doors closed behind him.  
Frozen.  
Unmoving. 

Shoma couldn’t move. 

Then Wakaba smiled that sad smile. 

Every athlete has a media-smile, a picture-smile. Something to hide the disappointment of losing, the pain, physical and mental one. Your parents are watching, your coaches, your country. You must smile.  
Wakaba’s smile was real. It was a sign she cared, earnestly, honestly. Empathy had her sharing Shoma’s turmoil.   
Shoma was tempted to believe her.

She extended her arm to touch his hand, tenderly.   
This gesture was platonic.   
Wakaba.. she was just there. There for Shoma. The two of them, they never had any special bond.  
But they both were young, and may well get tangled up in the big world of competition and fighting. They lost themselves at times. Wakaba found her way back to the right road, always. She could guide others as she went herself. Shoma.. not so much. He was no leader. He wasn’t built for empathy.   
He had his path planned out. He knew every step by heart, had know it for the years of his life.   
But he lost track of the steps.  
He took hits. He stumbled and fell.   
He hit himself.

 

“I know you are a sensitive person, and you know I know that being tired or down comes with our life. It’s just..”  
Those words. Shoma needed those words.

Wakaba understood.  
Someone felt what he felt.  
Wakaba was there. Wakaba was there!

Someone went along his way.   
Someone could pick him up.  
Someone was there.

His eyes bored into Wakaba’s.

 

Right then, Wakaba laughed. Exhaustedly.

“You won the silver, Shoma? Won’t you celebrate?” 

 

She intertwined her fingers with his, and guided him to sit on the ledge of her bed.   
“You reached a huge goal of yours.”

 

Wakaba studied his face.   
Still, it was expressionless.   
Emotionless. 

Shoma felt misfit. On yet another foreign bed.   
Yet again, he debated wether to share his thoughts and feeling with another.   
Wounded, he was cautious now.

 

Wakaba worried.   
“Did something happen?”

 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Then, Shoma’s dam broke.

 

The fear. The relief. The relish.  
Shock. Disbelief.  
Fear.

It all overcame Shoma, in that second, with that one question.

 

The small man cried into his only friend’s blouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being mia this long, exam season hit me like a truck.   
> Had the last Math exam of my life last Monday, caught a cold sat by the window, and only got 12/15.   
> Anyways, it’s the holidays!   
> Shoma is the Japanese Champion! Yuzuru will make his deserved dramatic comeback at Olympics!  
> I wish all of you a wonderful start into the new year! Let’s rock this!!


	6. Interlude - breakfast, morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t it funny, how you never know with Shoma?

Helsinki, the hotel’s dining hall -  
Wakaba, Marin, Kaori, Keiji, Kazuki

> Despite it being their well deserved day off, some odd members of Team Japan feast on peculiar Finnish breakfast foods, dressed in their matching jackets. 

Kaori (animatedly): So then they all geared up and the one girl got those balls of like, glitter and slime and stuff, and they all go fight in this evil space program place -  
Marin: And then he flew around on the robot!  
Kaori: And then they fought in space! In an alternate dimension!!  
Kazuki (deeply impressed): I really need to watch that movie.  
Keiji: If you girls keep on telling us everything, there won’t be anything left to watch. (He grins)

> Marin’s spoon stops halfway between plate and mouth. 

Marin (scoffs): Well, we never got to finish that movie, anyways.  
Kazuki: I thought you’d watched it last night?  
Kaori: No, we went back over to my room and had to watch some cheesy anime with Mai.  
Marin (suggestively): We we’re kicked out, weren’t we, Waka?

> Wakaba wears a pokerface as she sips on her second coffee. 

Keiji (laughing): We all know how hyper you girls can get late at night - Waka, if you got rid of them in favor of a good night’s sleep, you have my full support!

> Wakaba nods her head in his direction as a ‘thank you’.  
>  Enter Yuzuru Hanyu, dressed in all black training gear.  
>  He looks poignantly relaxed, as though there was no reason for concern, as though he could do no harm.  
> 

Keiji: Yuzu! Over here!

> Yuzuru seems distressed upon being directly addressed.

Yuzuru (waving from a distance): Good morning, guys!

> The juniors are mildly discomforted by the admittedly awkward presence of Japan’s ace. 

Kaori (urgently): Marin, didn’t you say you wanted to go check out the swimming pool?  
Marin: Right, so.. let’s just!  
Keiji (nods): If you’re lucky, it won’t be too crowded in the morning.  
Kazuki: Shouldn’t you wait half an hour after eating?

> The girls bow and leave the table. 

Kazuki (calling after them): Don’t drown! We might need you later!

> They don’t look back.  
>  Meanwhile, Yuzuru is still studying the five kinds of dry cereal by the buffet. 

Kazuki (nervously): I guess that leaves us?  
Keiji: Without the girls, the table’s energy level dropped about 60%.

> Wakaba manages a smile. 

Keiji: Speaking of energy, has anyone seen Shoma this morning?

> Yuzuru joins their table, juggling an orange, a glass of water and a plate with hash browns and a sad egg sunny-side-down. 

Kazuki: He hasn’t been online yet, so I’d guess he’s literally resting on his laurels.  
Keiji (laughs): If he resurfaces before 3pm, I’ll buy snacks for the entire team.

> They watch Yuzuru struggle to peel his orange. 

Keiji: After you were on the podium together, did you see Sho anywhere, Yuzu?  
Yuzuru (fidgeting with his orange): Why do you ask?  
Keiji: Didn’t you guys play some games together last night or something?  
Yuzuru: Why would you think that?  
Kazuki: We were going to all play Mario Kart - the silver might have gotten to his head, so we wanted to destroy him. But he said something about going to your room, so we figured you guys were gonna play.  
Yuzuru (still with the orange): He came over for a bit, but I just congratulated him on his medal and he left.  
Keiji (thoughtfully): Sho seemed to be stressing about something when I last talked to him, that’s why I wondered.  
Yuzuru: I don’t know. I think he just seemed tired. (He finally tosses a piece of orange into his mouth)  
Yuzuru: Just tired.

> Wakaba sends daggers of aghastly murderous glares Yuzuru’s way. 

Keiji: Well, we’ll be seeing him at the exhibition practice though.  
Kazuki: It’s always thrilling to guess which of his ten program’s he’ll be doing!

> Yuzuru starts cutting his egg. 

Yuzuru: Isn’t it funny, how you never know with Shoma?  
What will it be tonight? Longing for a lover in French?  
Or losing your best friend?  
(He stuffs his mouth with hash browns)  
Yuzuru: You never know.

> Wakaba slams down her cup.  
>  Keiji and Kazuki flinch, but simply blame the outburst on early morning clumsiness, and turn back to their conversation with Yuzuru. 

Keiji: Didn’t they push the practice forward though?  
Yuzuru (mouth full with potato): Yeah, I’ll have to leave in a bit.  
Kazuki: Ah, I wondered that you already have on your training gear!

> Keiji pokes the black fabric of Yuzuru’s trademark ‘under armour’. He notices the slogan printed on the back. 

Keiji (reads): ‘Conquer myself’?

> Yuzuru shrugs. 

Keiji: If you’re moving to practice soon, won’t you need your jacket?

> Yuzuru shrugs, then swallows the last bite of egg. 

Yuzuru: I brought a jacket, but it’s the wrong one.  
Keiji (laughs): And after the continuous glove disaster, I thought you wouldn’t forget any more clothes!  
Yuzuru: No, the one I brought is just too small.

> Yuzuru stacks his empty dishes, and gets up. 

Keiji (teasing): Wait, after Javi wore your pants last year, did you steal Shoma’s jacket?  
Yuzuru: I plan on returning it unworn.

> Without a warning, he suddenly leans back down to face Wakaba. She struggles to keep a neutral face. 

Yuzuru: It would only be nice if my jacket were to be returned in time for the practice.

> He leaves the table, and the other men in confusion.
> 
> Wakaba exhales audibly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Hope you had wonderful holidays thus far!  
> Kazuki is my giggly son, and Keiji is the soft giant I need in my life.  
> Fun fact: I went ice skating last week and skated a pretty solid spiral, until I fell and killed my knee. I got up with that kneeling half turn thingy Shoma does in See You Again though, so she was still cute.
> 
> Life will start again this week, so I don’t know how much writing I can get done, but I’ll sure try my best!  
> If y’all got anything to say about the story, be it good or bad or random, do leave a comment! I’m always excited to see what you think!!
> 
> Hoping Shoma slays 4CC! Let’s go, 2018!


	7. the rink, early midday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And with that, he left

Shoma did show up to practice, that morning. Of course he did.   
Mihoko’d called to wake him, because he’d slept through his alarm. He’d rolled out of bed, dropped onto the ground, his fall cushioned by dirty laundry. He’d stuffed some change of clothes into his bag, washed his face, changed into something equally loose, semi-clean and wrinkled, and he’d been out the door.

Whenever Shoma wore his angry pokerface, his friends liked to believe there was something deep brooding behind that scowl of his. But to be honest, as he stomped out the hotel and towards the bus station, he truly, deeply, didn’t care. If there was one thing every athlete needed to even vaguely succeed, it was an indestructible ability to get one’s shit together, and get on with training.   
And so he did.

He arrived at the rink fashionably late, having had to call a cab after missing the bus. Mihoko wasn’t even mad, she’d seen that he’d tried to hurry, at the least.   
His hair looked a mess, though. The whole man looked a mess. His eyes were bloodshot, dull. A scowl adorned his soft-ish features. Anyways, if there was one thing he wasn’t gonna do, it would be messing up choreography and embarrassing himself in front of a big audience and some people he’d have to face again after this gala.  
It was time to be no-nonsense.  
Once he stumbled into the locker room, empty save for Deniss, the tall Latvian sunshine, and Nathan, the American genius. Greeting them with nothing but a nod and hum, Shoma was changed into sweatpants and out on the ice in a blink.

By the rink side, he had a quick talk with Mihoko, who filled him in concerning his practice plan and the general schedule.  
There was a general hustling and bustling atmosphere, and all the men seemed to be littered around the rink.  
Team Japan had probably be punctual, Shoma thought. Yuzuru was probably around, Shoma thought.   
But Shoma didn’t care.  
He went stroking around the rink for a bit, just gliding and feeling the ice, eyes never moving past his own boots. Someone’s music started, tropical house or something of that sort. Pop music, anyways.  
Shoma left the ice where Mihoko was watching him from, and went to stretch and generally loosen up. Figure skating is fun, but the whole physical activity surrounding it had never been his cup of tea. He rolled out his yoga mat, put on his headphones. And to the sound of his favorite soundtrack, volume turned up to the max, he relaxed  
Somewhere along the 24th song of the “Your Name” album, Mihoko tapped his shoulder, as it was his turn to practice. To be fair, at that point he’d just been lying on the floor, eyes closed, in the middle of his small pile of caffeinated drinks.  
He got up shakily, packed (threw) his things into his bag, and strut away towards the ice. Then, he did his thing.  
He closed his eyes, feeling the solitude of the frozen surface. There were some men skating around him, but this was his thing, so he wasn’t even supposed to care.  
Hands in his pockets, music go. 

Well, that skate was clean enough. The Quad Sal didn’t work out, but would it ever? The spins were alright. Steps were alright. He did well enough.  
His music stopped.  
Now if he only weren’t to think of that one man with the perfect Quad Sal, the most amazing spins, the most meaningful steps.  
He didn’t want to care. What would pondering the tragedy be able to change?   
He knew, nobody in the world would care. Nothing in the world would change. So honestly, why should he bother.  
Hadn’t it been his decision, after all? Changing things? Well, he’d have to learn to live with the aftermath.   
Maybe he was being antisocial, or just a rebellious teenager or the like, but he couldn’t be moved to deal with people right now.  
As the last note of the music faded, he took a breath, counted one, two. He relaxed his posture and gave a quick bow into every direction. Lowering his head, he started to skate around the rink.  
Shoma watched his blades carve into the blue. In the back of his mind, he vaguely recognized the current music as Boyang’s. Boyang, a weird dude.   
Gliding along to a rhythm of his own, Shoma was at ease.  
Wasn’t that all that counts? His being at peace with himself. Maybe he had mastered the situation. Maybe he was all grown up now. Maybe, nothing could ever shake him again. 

“Shoma!”, Yuzuru called out. “Come over, i still have your jacket.”

That horrible, screeching voice painfully shattered any pretense of calm.

Shoma did some crossing overs to pick up speed. Shoma did skate over. 

How dare that man appear. Say no word, no consolation, but scream once there was silence.  
How dare he.

 

Shoma rammed his blade into the ice.   
Shoma halted.  
Yuzuru stood covered, head to toe, in tiny pieces of snow created by Shoma’s blades.  
Shoma spoke.  
“Just throw it out in front of your room or something. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Hanyu-kun.”  
And with that, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing was fun again, I love it


	8. to preface the end

> Nobody shall sleep!
> 
> Nobody shall sleep!
> 
>  
> 
> Even you, oh Princess,  
>  in your cold room,  
>  watch the stars,  
>  that tremble with love and with hope.
> 
> But my secret is hidden within me,  
>  my name no one shall know...  
>  No! ... No! ...  
>  On your mouth, I will tell it when the light shines.
> 
> And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!...  
>  (No one will know his name and we must, alas, die.)
> 
>  
> 
> Vanish, o night!  
>  Set, stars! Set, stars!
> 
> At dawn, I will win!
> 
>  
> 
> I will win! I will win!

 

Turandot, _Nessun Dorma_


	9. afternoon, the end, somewhat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is the night sky.

Shoma hates being alone.  
Being alone sucks.

The season had been going so well, and now all his friends had left him, and he was to defend the honor of his nation all by himself.  
Competitions without competitors were no fun, and Shoma couldn’t find the motivation to fight, really.

Everything had been going so well.

He’d been fighting his way to the top, and he’d been this close to winning, okay?  
A super high score and gold early in the Grand Prix season. Silver at the Final. Silver at Four Continents. Silver in Pyeongchang.  
Worlds would have been his moment to shine. To have his friends there, to have the top six there, to have full war for the gold.

Shoma was proud of himself.  
He’d done well on all of his competitions.  
He’d fallen some times, and made some mistakes, but he’d never made a mistake two times.  
Never twice.  
He’d gone nearly the entire season without even coming within a two meter radius of the Olympic Champion. 

 

Well, except for that one time he had to hug him on the podium.  
Hugging was just a part of protocol. To honor the victor.  
To be friendly after a bloody battle out on the ice. 

 

It had been Javier who had held him close, who’d forced him to stand with them by the rink, before the medal ceremony.  
They’d spoken English, anyways.  
They had cried, so Shoma had had to smile. If all of them had cried, people would have laughed. Things would have been awkward.  
He didn’t care that much, anyways.  
About the Olympics and being there and stuff.

 

It was playing pretend, really, wasn’t it.  
Pretending to not hate each other’s guts. Pretending to not feel the burden of a family’s, a coach’s, a country’s disappointment, Silver again.  
Pretending to ignore the hidden mountain of crumbled up feelings and smiles and messages. 

 

Messages never sent. Messages that read something of “Good luck” and “Congratulations!”, and “It’s been a while!”, and “I’m in Japan, where are you?”, and “I miss you”, “I’m in Japan. Are you here? I miss you.”  
“Let’s talk.”

 

“I miss you.”

 

Why does Shoma have to pretend? Or rather.. who has he been pretending to be?

One thing Shoma knows is that Yuzury’s grande comeback annoys him. Is making him uncomfortable. Is taking everything inside him, turning it inside out, is exposing it.  
It shows in his step sequences, his choreography. In the way he can’t seem to sleep.

 

Shoma is probably one to blame. After watching the Olympics unfold, did he really have to appeal to the media the way he did, to laud his biggest rival, to fake anything that was not pure resentment?

Retrospectively, no, he most certainly did not.

Yuzuru had been hiding in his Toronto den for the greater part of the winter months, while Shoma was doing the power-play expected from Team Japan.  
He’d done all the interviews, gotten all the medals and scores. He’d been exhausted.  
Nonetheless, he’d been more than ready to face the Olympics, especially after winning the Short for the team.  
Due to a series of unfortunate events though, Shoma had lost.  
Yuzuru had won.

It fueled Shoma’s attack.

He’d been more than excited for Worlds.

 

The personal and the skating were two entirely different spheres, which Shoma would never dream to bring together.  
Leaving all thoughts, all wishes, all hopes, all dreams, all disappointments, all pains, all tears, all fear behind. As soon as he stepped on the ice.  
So no matter what had happened between him, or the person he pretended to be, and everyone in the entire world - he just wanted to skate, and skate well. 

But he has no one, now. He is alone.  
Everyone retired, or is injured, or is staying with family.  
Shoma is in Italy, the cameras are following him, and he is alone.  
He is Japan.

He is a man, a small man, a medal winner, a medal contender, a figure skater.  
Now, he is going to skate.  
He is. Only he is.

He slips into his costume, the blue clinging to him like a second skin, his armor. The gold on the costume, stars. He is the night sky.  
He is powerful. He is going to skate.

Then, his phone dings. 

 

_I’m sorry. I miss you. I know now. I love you._

 

His phone dings.

 

_I couldn’t say it then. I love you. I miss you._

 

His phone dings.

 

_You will win._

 

Shoma picks up his phone, considers throwing it against a wall.  
Is his heart racing? No.  
Does he feel like crying? No.  
Should he run away? No, stupid.

 

Can he be angry, still?

 

“N’essun Dorma” plays, for the last time, ever.  
“Vinceró”.

He skates.

 

 

He wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I don’t even know.  
> Exam season hit me like a truck and Olympics happened and apparently I’m going to graduate real soon.  
> As the title might indicate, this is not the end. Y’all KNOW some fluff will ensue, don’t be alarmed.  
> Hope worlds will be lit and everyone will.. survive, and have a good time.


End file.
